Alien
by Sable Supernova
Summary: Marine Martineau was a girl with interests and friends and a farmhouse home... in France. Now, in England, she's the French girl, and she doesn't even know enough English to argue otherwise. Alienated and alone, will anything break her out of her silence? Is language really all that matters, or is there more to a relationship than words? Possible MC.


**Written for:**  
 **Hogwarts Writing Club:** Language, 800 words (give or take 30)  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Ulick Gamp - Write about someone who has to make a drastic change.  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank Forum:** "A picture paints a thousand words." "Actions speak louder than words." Emotions: alone and alienated.  
 **Words:** 830

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 **Alien**

I didn't want to come here. I don't want to be here. My _maman_ said I was young and adaptable, and anyway, English wasn't that hard to learn.

We only moved because she was scared. We had a little farmhouse with a small piece of land in Comté. Nothing would have happened to us there. Most of the world couldn't point out our province on a map. No, she was scared because the world was in turmoil, because _la pureté du sang_ suddenly meant a lot to a lot of people, and _Beauxbâtons Académie de la Magie_ was suddenly a target.

She was only trying to keep me alive.

I remember my first few days here. I had to remind myself every time I met someone to say 'hi' instead of ' _salut_ ', and I met a lot of people. My knowledge of English never got me much further than that.

For my first couple of weeks, I remember, I was a bit of a local celebrity. The exotic, foreign girl in the village. I remember how draining it was. My cheek muscles ached constantly from all the smiling, because I was trying to be nice, and friendly, and welcoming, without words. They stared at me a lot. France and England are only separated by a thin stretch of sea, but still, everything was different. Just a little bit, anyway. Enough for it all to be alienating.

In France, I was Marine Martineau. I was a girl who loved to sing, and read romance novels. I had friends, and a life, and I was an individual. Here, I was suddenly 'the French girl'. I wasn't defined by myself anymore, but by my accent, my language, my country. I lost myself to my own history.

It didn't take long for all the attention to wear off. Everyone had wanted to meet me, to be seen with me, to talk with me. When they realised I couldn't talk back, or at least, not for long, they didn't see me as worth the effort. At first, the peace and quiet was a welcome relief. I enjoyed the silence of it.

It didn't take me long to realise the silence was just as lonely.

Of course, I was trying to learn English, but I couldn't keep up. My _maman_ said I had to learn enough English so that I could go to Hogwarts in September. I told her it was impossible to learn an entire language in two months. She said I was intelligent. I could do it.

Of all the spells, through all the years, in all the countries, wizarding kind has solved so many problems, and taught itself so many new skills. We've unlocked so many secrets. But language? No. Language isn't one of them.

In those early weeks, I learned how actions really did speak louder than words. A simple smile stood easily in place of _salut_ , _je suis désolé_ , _je ne comprends pas, s'il vous plaîs_ and _merci_. Pointing at objects in shops usually got me what I wanted, though occasionally the thing next to it proved a welcome surprise, too. At least, I told myself, some things translated.

As I began to be able to converse, even if it was just about the weather, I learned how a picture could paint a thousand words. I didn't know my left from my right yet, but just about anyone could draw me a simple map if I was lost. I didn't always know the words for things, but pulling out pen and paper and drawing a crude facsimile of the object in question usually worked. Pictures are words when words are not there.

My English improved, but the dreams of the tree swing in the vineyard were still there. The tears lingered on my pillow.

Until I heard a simple _salut_.

I turned with a smile, but it wasn't my mother. It wasn't even my father, or my brother. It was a boy. I'd seen him before, but last time we only stared and smiled. He didn't seem to know the words to say what he wanted, then, and I didn't know the English. We smiled, all the same, and that was enough. His accent was heavy, but I recognised the word I'd heard every day of my life, even though it sounded as though he'd just learned it.

"Hello," I replied, my English soft and missing the 'h'.

" _Je pense que vous êtes très belle_ ," he told me, pronouncing every syllable, smiling as his awkwardness shoved his hands into his pockets. His blonde hair caught on the wind as I blushed.

"Thank you. My name is Marine," I told him, smiling still.

" _Je m'appelle Scorpius_ ," he replied.

It seemed silly, at the time. It still does. But somehow, I suddenly felt as though maybe I didn't have to be alone here. Maybe there was more to friendship than language. And, maybe, there were still people willing to put in the effort.

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 **A/N:** Okay, so I recently moved to a new country, where I don't know the language, and no one here speaks English. Not a sob story or anything, I'm getting by, but I wanted to capture some of what that feels like, the highs, lows and hilarities that ensue, while it's still current for me. I have more funny stories (pronunciation going very, very wrong, ordering food without having any words in common etc.) so I would like to continue this story, but I'm not sure yet.

I'd love it if you let me know what you thought, either way. Good or bad, I'd like to know, because this is a little new for me in terms of themes and the character etc. I had fun writing this and exploring the idea, but that doesn't mean it isn't terrible!

Also, apologies if any of my French is off. It's a bit rusty. Feel free to let me know.


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